


Pick Out the Sins

by oisiflaneur



Series: Metal Now [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisiflaneur/pseuds/oisiflaneur
Summary: Washington has finally figured out where the Alpha came from. Now, the both of them have to figure out what to do next.





	1. so here i am

**Author's Note:**

> ooooh my god okay finally we're getting this show on the road. i'm not sure why i go on hiatus for half a year so often, but i swear this series is actually getting finished. a huge thank you to those who've read from the beginning!! this update: church and wash are both extremely bad at feelings, we FINALLY meet some girls, and something almost like a plot appears on the horizon.
> 
>  **content warnings** for this chapter are: alcohol and implied past addiction, vague references to suicide, and death of a loved one. the standard for this trainwreck, really. also a VERY obtuse rape mention.
> 
> the tag for this is still at [my rvb sideblog](http://toomanychurches.tumblr.com/tagged/metal%20now) and i'm trying to actually use it.

The first night of being properly himself again is strange, to say the least. Just the act of looking around the room has details of his life within it flooding back: his threadbare reading chair beside the couch and having Washington do all the lifting when they moved it in, the flatscreen on the wall and arguing over which specifications to shell out for, even the couch he's sitting on and his first night passed out cold. Traces of his old self are everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to catch up on the events before his technological birth, and none too gently. He spends almost an hour just sitting on the couch, trying to keep his head above the metaphorical tide. There's a lot to work through.

And Washington doesn't seem to know what to do with him. He's still standing a few feet away, having moved on from watching the sim carefully, to mouthing silently with glazed eyes as he stares into space. Whatever he's thinking about is taking too much brainpower for him to pay attention when Church snaps out of it and staggers to his feet.

"Fucking… Shit. Fuck this!" He mutters quietly and shoves himself unsteadily past the couch and easy chair, practically stomping around into the kitchen. Even if he hadn't found the whiskey on his first day, now he _remembers_ where he'd hidden it. 

As he retrieves it, Washington catches sight of him through the indoor window, and he seems to finally startle back to life as he's hoisting up the bottle by its neck for inspection. "Hey! You don't even know what that'll do to your system!" He says firmly, making his own way around to the kitchen door.

"Welp. One way to find out." Church shoots back drily as he unscrews the cap.

Washington makes to grab for the bottle, frowning mightily. " _Church_ , I'm serious! That's not the answer here."

But Church has had what might qualify as one of the shittiest days in his life, and _now_ he knows about all the shitty days that this one has to beat out. "What's it gonna do?" He sneers up at him, a spike of petty cruelty flaring up inside his chest. "Kill me?"

The expression on Washington's face makes him regret it immediately. He looks like he just got hit by a truck.

But his resting neutral scowl slides back up to replace it, and he stands up straight. "Fine. You know what? Do what you want. I'll figure this out by myself. Like always."

Church watches his back retreat down the hallway and into the bedroom, scowling after him, before he lifts the bottle and takes a generous chug.

Unfortunately, it tastes… Well. Fucking _awful_. He's gotten used to eating, but strong tastes still overwhelm his sensors easily, and this is. _Very_ strong. It burns his throat and makes the scent receptors in his 'sinuses' sting. How did the old him ever get used to this stuff? Maybe his guardian was right, and the side effects aren't worth the taste.

But Washington didn't stick around to see him screw his face up and put the bottle back -- in a different hiding spot, of course.

He finds himself standing in the middle of the hallway intersection, staring down towards the bedroom at the end of the corridor and wondering whether Washington has gotten in bed already. Not that Church needs to sleep -- or even _likes_ it, for that matter -- but somewhere in the back of his mind he'd expected to accompany him. There's a part of him now that had been used to that, and just assumed that he would be climbing into bed after him like he always did.

 _You're not his boyfriend. His boyfriend is dead._ Church reminds himself sharply, slapping his cheeks lightly as though that could banish the new memories in his banks.

He's just some copy. And, apparently, a problem to be _figured out_.

So after that one sip of liquor, he kicks open the door to what he now knows is his own office, and slams it behind him. The rest of the night is spent hunched over his old keyboard, sorting through his files and making sure that everything is where he left it. Of course, with the room having been off limits, it is. His widower ( boyfriender? nope, definitely not. there must be a term ) hasn't touched the machine aside from turning it off when he got home that fateful night. But he needs _something_ to occupy him.

Church is so absorbed that he doesn't even hear Washington hovering in the hallway, peeking through the cracked door to stare at his back. Almost as though he wants to ask him something -- or was wondering why his bed was still empty.

* * *

He asks him _something_ the next day, interrupting Church's third pass through his internet history to make sure that he didn't leave behind anything incriminating. Sometime before dawn, Kylie had slipped out of her owner's room and pawed the door open, and pretending not to notice her meant not removing her from her perch atop the computer. He knew that his host would come looking for her at _some_ point, just not that he'd want anything else from what must be an unsettling presence in his home.

So it's something of a surprise when Washington comes back to hover in the doorway after he's finished putting out the food for the cats, prompting the calico to hop down off the tower and trot off towards her bowl. He's awkwardly silent for a moment that seems to stretch into an age as Church vehemently tries to ignore him. It doesn't work. 

"So… Why are you bothering with the keyboard and all that? Can't you just get online in your brain, or whatever?" Washington finally says, measuredly calm. Almost as though he'd been practicing in his mind during the silence.

Church snorts, and doesn't deign to turn his chair around. "First of all, I'm checking what _Leonard L. Church Jr._ left behind, so. The actual machine he used is sorta, you know, an important factor."

Washington's brow furrows. "Huh? What are you worried about having left behind? Won't it all just be in your… Hard drive, or whatever it is, now? If you can remember that he downloaded it, isn't that basically the same thing?"

As though he hadn't asked anything, Church finally shoves the edge of the desk to spin his chair on its axis, his legs crossed on top of the seat. " _Second_ ," he continues, "Our internet access was seriously handicapped in the labs. Couldn't have any _outside factors_ fucking us up in ways they didn't predict. I'm wireless capable out here, but that doesn't do me any good for getting at my old notes, which are what I need right now."

"But… You know how to code."

That gets the sim's hackles up, planting his hands on his crossed ankles and leaning forward stiffly. "Oh, _what?_ Just because I'm an android, I'm fluent in binary? Way to be _technist_ , Wash."

Washington pinches the bridge of his nose. "I just meant-- _You're_ the guy who _designed_ you! There's gotta be something in your own skull detailing how you work!"

The offense seems to fade away, and instead, Church is just grouchy. He lets go of his legs to cross his arms, staring to the side at a corner of the wall. "Well, yeah. There's a ton, actually. Congrats, you got me there! But I'm _also_ the guy who designed me not to be able to mess around with my own code." He makes a face, scrunching his nose up. "I didn't want to fuck around with all that three laws bullshit, alright? I thought it'd just be easier to make it so we couldn't edit ourselves."

"Edit yourselves?"

"Augh! Themselves! Whatever! Me, _the creator_ , made it so that me, _the creation_ , can't fuck around with his work too much." His voice shifts from frustration to something that almost sounds like awe, or maybe distraction. "Only Designates can do that, and none of us had any. Maybe he should have thought that through a little better…"

The pronoun game is getting more difficult by the second, but Washington is afraid to ask for clarification at this point. "Okay, well. Look. I've got to go in for my shift, I… I don't want them to get the idea that anything's different." 

Contrary to his nature, Church nods at that. "Right. Good call." He usually hates being left alone, but… The less attention they draw until their feet are properly under them, the better. 

"You can mess around online all day if you want, but try to do me a favor? Be ready to go in the evening." Washington pauses, and it feels almost like it's for dramatic effect. "I'm going to take you to see a friend of mine."

Church's reaction is extraordinarily underwhelming. "Oh. Well, cool, I guess. It'll be interesting to finally see what the rest of the world looks like with my new set of eyes!" His voice is aggressively, saccharinely cheerful.

"Wait, you've never been outside before?" 

Church can only hope that the look he gives his keeper is appropriately skeptical. "Dude, when would I have? We didn't exactly have field trips from the labs. And you didn't give me a set of keys."

Washington stares at him for a long moment, but at least he has the decency to look embarrassed. "Right, true. Sorry, that's… They really didn't let you out at _all_ before sending you to me?" When Church shakes his head, the human sighs and scratches the back of his skull. "Well. That's kinda messed up, now that I think about it. But you don't really look like a human being under scrutiny, Church." Washington peeks over his shoulder as he shrugs his customary steel grey jacket onto his shoulders, glancing at the sim behind him. "You'll have to try and keep a low profile when we're out."

* * *

Church slouches and tugs at the drawstrings of his sweatshirt, pulling the hood closed around his face. "I just want to say, for the record, that I think this is fucking stupid."

The bar isn't one that he remembers being to before; and things are starting to come back to him when prompted. Walking past the diner on the corner had him clinging to Washington's elbow and stumbling as he forced himself to remember that it wasn't any of the nights they went down there for a late meal. No, Leonard L. Church Jr. had never been to the Watering Hole before his death, and _obviously_ had other things to worry about afterwards. It's off the beaten path, down a grubby staircase illuminated inconsistently by an aging neon sign. The inside isn't any more impressive.

"Would you keep it down?" Washington hisses, craning his neck to peer around the bar. His concern is unfounded with the music blaring the way it is; Church can barely make out what he's saying, and his audio receptors are calibrated for it. "She should be here soon, so watch your language."

Church just sneers. "Right. I wouldn't want to burn your girlfriend's delicate ears."

"I don't think either of us are interested." Comes a voice from behind him, and suddenly Washington is sidling around the curve of the booth to sit next to him and make room for the real reason they're here. Church is left staring at the young woman who drops down into the seat in front of him: a brunette with shaved hair and a brown leather jacket, currently leveling a stare directly back at him.

"Hey, Co-- C.T." Washington says as he pulls his jacket over onto his lap for more space. "Sorry for dragging you out on such short notice."

She sends him a smile, but it doesn't read as genuine; it doesn't reach her eyes at all. "Don't worry about that. How have you been? This is…" Finally, she sets her gaze on Church. "So this is why you called, huh?"

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here." Church sticks his nose in the air, frowning as he regards her suspiciously. "I don't remember you. And I'm _pretty_ sure I've met all of Wash's friends."

The two humans glance at each other, before C.T. rests her hands on the table in front of her and leans towards him a few degrees. "I quit Necessity a while ago, and I like to keep a low profile. I wasn't going to hang around while he was dating the owner's son."

Church's eyebrows shoot up at that. "Oh yeah? You sure it was _quit_ , and not fired?"

C.T. doesn't respond to him, turning to Washington instead. "He's a real charmer, this one. I can see why you keep him around."

Ignoring the sim's indignant spluttering, he just sighs. "It's complicated. And he's kind of cranky from…" Washington waves his hands vaguely in the air in front of himself. "All of this. Being dead. You know how it is."

"Does anybody?" Church mutters as he slouches grouchily.

The guest goes back to eying the sim, looking him over carefully. "I'll give Necessity this: they do good work. If you weren't so… Desaturated, you'd pass for human." Cocking her head to the side, C.T. pulls a datapad out of her bag, tapping the code to unlock it with the screen tilted well away from both of them. "Never met the junior, but you're a dead ringer for a younger version of the Director. Why do you even look like that?"

"Good question." Washington mumbles under his breath.

Sighing, Church leans back against the seat, crossing his arms as the fake leather creaks around him. "We had to. Since we took the neural maps from real people, the bodies they run had to look like real people, or the mental disconnect is too strong. The early prototypes just looked liked crash test dummies, and we couldn't even get them to function."

C.T. doesn't even look up from her tapping. "Mmmm. Interesting. Doesn't explain why you look exactly like a dead man."

He shrugs. "If you're trying to avoid a transplanted consciousness freaking the fuck out because it doesn't look like it thinks it should, why halfass it?" Church pointedly doesn't answer the 'dead' part of the question.

"Alright. I guess that works. Honestly, I don't really care. The ones that still have people walking around are a little bit more of a problem, here." She holds her hands up, palms outward, in response to the glare he gives her. "Sorry! But with you, at least nobody's going to suddenly see their doppelganger for sale."

The sim bristles again, leaning over the table towards her to snarl. "Yeah there is, you dipshit! _Me!_ "

"So. You need my help. You wouldn't have contacted me the way you did, otherwise." Her attention slides back to Washington, even while Church curses her out under his breath. "So, exactly what kind of help am I providing? Are you going to give me the details or not?"

Washington shrugs and looks between them helplessly. "Sorry, Connie. _This_ is how I found out about the project. I'm not all that useful, this time."

"Right. This time." C.T. laughs quietly and elbows him. That chuckle sounds more sincere than anything she's said so far, to Church. So, as his ( former? late? ) boyfriend's face turns red, he decides he can at least trust his friend this far.

"Alright, You've gotta remember that as much as the Director likes to fuck around with his pet projects, this is still a company. We're all designed for different demographics; gotta try and keep that broad appeal, move as many units as possible." 

Church sinks into his seat, arms folded over and face scrunched up with displeasure, as he fills them in. Just the basics, of course. About the weeks where it was just him, the first one activated and the most basic model: the jack of all trades, but master of none. About the others that had slowly started to show up in the 'common room', the shared space that felt more like a nursery, with most of one wall taken up by a mirror that they all knew was a window from the other side. He doesn't tell them about the testing. He doesn't tell them anything that could get the other sims in trouble, just in caseit somehow makes it back to the engineers.

Even so, there's still a lot to tell. It takes longer than any of them expected.

"Alright, so." Church pulls his hands up, flicking each finger out from a fist as he counts his former companions in his mind. "Obviously you have me." 

Washington snorts. "Unfortunately." But his tone is gentler than it would have been saying the same response a few weeks ago; it's teasing, and not a genuine wish for his absence.

So the response is just as fangless. "Hey. Go fuck yourself. _Anyway_ ," Church rolls his eyes and forges ahead, tapping his fingertips as he lists off the variations. "There's six regular models. Three main categories. I'm what they called…" Basic. Introductory. Starter level. " _Well rounded_. Suitable for the house or the office, handle your emails, kind of deal. A fancy T2T that can 'T' back. Nothing too special, aside from the fact that I'm _fuckin' sapient._ " He glares at C.T. again before continuing. "Then there's the travel buddy. He's for like, ambassadors or people with enough income to get out of this shithole city for a few weeks a year. Got like, three thousand languages installed, supposed to be the best at diplomacy and shit like that. We're what they called the 'personal or professional' set, compared to the guys who are designed more for a household. First's a kind of babysitter; kinda like me, but programmed to do chores, and help with homework, and meaningless shit like that. Sales department was projecting that he's gonna be biggest with parents and career academics, which is some pretty funny overlap. The other they weren't too sure about when I left, and I haven't really been able to get updates." Church scowls, staring at the surface of the table. Who knows how the project had changed since he was sent out? What if the others are already out for testing, too? 

He doesn't realize he's trailed off until Washington elbows him gently.

"Right. Last up, we've got the heavy duty fuckers; they're both built a lot tougher than the rest of us, so they look a bit different. Less focus on appearing human and more on being able to withstand a collapsing wall without being sent back for repairs. One is the builderbot, supposed to combine the best of manufacturing robots and like, construction workers, who've got brains. The other guy is pretty much a bodyguard or a security detail, so…" Suddenly, Church grins. "Oh, _now_ I get it! I see why you guys are feeling threatened! We're gonna put your kind out of work, aren't we?"

Both of the flesh and blood people at the table level a glare at him.

He sighs, finally leaning forward and propping his elbow on the table, his chin on the heel of his palm. "Well, that's the rundown for the main bunch. I'm supposed to be released first, but those guys are probably getting sent to testing households like Wash's pretty soon. It's not like, _ideal_ , but there's not a ton that we can do about that." Church drums his fingers on the tabletop, trying to find the right way to explain the next issue. "...The ones that are really gonna be a problem are the last two. Not a _huge_ deal or anything, but..."

Perhaps it's his familiarity with Church's sidestepping and attempted halftruths, but Washington narrows his eyes and cuts in with a question before C.T. can manage to get her words arranged. "And why's that, _exactly?_ "

With a mightily weary sigh, Church finally meets Washington's eyes for what might be the first time since he started talking. "Well. Those would be the, uh. The sexbot prototypes."

"The _what?_ " Wash yelps, his hands flying up to cover his mouth a just moment too late. A few of the other patrons are glancing at their booth.

The sim is already leaning away from him, and holding his palms up in the universal gesture of surrender. " _Look_ , man! Somebody was going to ask for them eventually. We figured it was better to have a model that was actually fucking designed for it, rather than have the household ones… Well. You know." His scowl deepens even more, something that hadn't seemed physically possible. "Better to have units _specifically_ for that, and make the others incapable, just to be safe. Right?" When there's no answer, he plows ahead. "It worked just the same as the other groups. Donut and Kai volunteered to be scan bases, but only for the _tests._ We were going to put out a call for applicants after all the kinks were worked out." Washington's cheeks somehow manage to turn even redder, and C.T. looks at him dubiously. "Oh my _god._ Pun not intended!"

With a sigh, C.T. takes a sip of her drink and stares at Church over the rim. "Well, if they authorized their scans for testing and they're being tested, then what's the problem?" Her voice sounds light, but the way her eyes narrow across the table says that she's not asking with curiosity. She's bracing for the footnote.

"The _problem_ , lady, is that I'm not a fuckin' idiot. I know what I wrote into those contracts, and I know what I heard my fucking _keepers_ talk about after I…" He struggles for the right words for a moment; it's not exactly like there's a guidebook to coming back to life. "After I woke up like this." There. That will have to suffice.

Trying to hide his discomfort with a cough, Washington looks at the sim sidelong and addresses his former coworker. "Church is here because his model is scheduled to hit the shelves soonest, but thanks to him we know that there are plans in place for at least a few of the others. We have to assume that the only reason the Alpha build was considered ready this soon is the combination of the fact that he was started earliest, and the fact that his source brain passed away before the project's completion." His voice slips down into the deadpan it takes when Washington is trying to hide his irritation. "Not to mention, neglected to sign any of those contracts we were just talking about."

Church rolls his eyes, reaching for Washington's drink. "Would you quit nagging me about that? It's not exactly like there's much I can do about it _now!_ "

Eventually, the bickering dies down, and they realize that it's nearly an hour later than they'd planned to leave by. They decide to meet back two weeks from now: at the same time, place, and even booth if they can. C.T. agrees to sniff around for them, to dig up what information she can through what connections she has; but she refuses to transmit it to them via any method other than face to face. She may have left Necessity, but that doesn't mean she's left their radar.

"Geeze, what's with all the hushhush bullshit?" Church groans, as they're shaking hands and preparing to part ways. "It's a corporate conglomerate, not some shadowy cabal of murderers and thieves."

Washington grimaces visibly as C.T. simply stares the both of them down. "Well. I'll just be on my way, then. You two clearly have a lot to talk about." And then she's slung the bag strap over her shoulder and vanished into the shadows. Church leans around the corner to peer after her, and all he can make out is a blind alley.

* * *

"The _fuck_ was that all about?" Church demands indignantly when they pile out of the lifter, gesticulating behind Washington's back as he swipes his keycard to let them in. "You _sure_ she didn't get fired? She looks like she used to be a thief or something. All the girls back at college with that hairstyle were shoplifters, you know."

" _No_ , she didn't get fired. Technically." Washington sighs and peels his jacket off his shoulders, snapping the multiple locks shut behind them. "Are you even _capable_ of, like, not looking a gift horse in the mouth? She knew that something rotten was going on at Necessity _ages_ ago, long before I started to suspect. And she has connections. We could use her help."

"Maybe I don't _want_ her help." Still sulking, Church forgoes glaring at him to storm past and throw himself onto the couch. His weight dropping onto the cushion makes Buddy bounce up a few centimetres, startling awake with wide amber eyes. Church reaches over to scratch the back of her neck rather more aggressively than usual, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. "This is my problem. _Our_ problem. We should be the ones dealing with it."

"Look, let's just. Deal with this _however_ we have to, alright?" Wash finally sighs, running his fingers back through the longer section of his hair. "If you can't access company information from out here, C.T. and her friends are gonna be _really_ useful. They know how to get into the network."

That's a stab at Church's pride, now that he knows who did most of the work on Necessity's defense systems. "Pfft. Sure. Like my security is that bad."

"Whatever you need to think." Washington is too tired to argue. He shakes his head, and lingers at the hallway junction, eyeing the cat and the sim on the couch. "Just don't stay up all night again, alright?"

"It's not like I need to sleep, dude."

Washington kicks a heel across the carpet, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "I know, but… Maybe I've missed sleeping next to you."

It's a useless subprogram, but the parts of Church that remember being human make him instinctively blink and reel back a few degrees. "Bwuh?" Is about all he can manage.

"You can still browse the net internally or however you do that, right? If you're done scrubbing the porn folders of the deceased." The splutters from the android interrupt him, but only for an instant. What Washington says next makes up for it. "So, come get in bed at some point tonight. You're the one who talked me into getting a kingsize, we might as well be using it."

Frozen in place on the couch, Church stares at him with disbelief. "Am… Am I allowed to?"

Washington lets out a chuckle, smiling a real, genuine smile; the kind where his left cheek dimples up and the outsides of his eyes crinkle. "Yeah, of course. Being a stubborn asshole doesn't negate _that_. Otherwise you'd have moved out a year ago."

"That's not--" Church starts to yell, his voice rising in pitch, but he bites back the arguments bubbling up from his chest. If Wash is going to give him this, better not to push his luck. After all, maybe he's just... Conveniently forgotten that Church is the second iteration to stay here.

He won't look _this_ gift horse in the mouth. Not when, instead, he can follow Washington into the bedroom that he's been banned from since he arrived. Not when he can climb into bed beside him, eyes wide and tracking every vital sign in the room instead of sleeping. Not when he can listen to Washington's breathing slowly get lighter and steadier until there's the faint rumble of a snore beneath it.

Not when Buddy curls up in front of his chest and Kylie between both of their knees, nesting in the diamond gap their legs leave as Washington sleeps with his back turned towards him.

No. This is _at least_ worth being called a stubborn asshole.

* * *

If the first weeks had been too quiet, then all of a sudden it feels like everything is happening at once. 

The next morning, Church nearly jumps out of his faux skin when the buzzer sounds. He's never been on the other side of that doorbell, and the apartment's human resident doesn't exactly host lots of visitors. Even their takeout is picked up by hand, since _somebody_ is just a tiny bit paranoid, and doesn't like giving out the address. 

Washington looks about as puzzled as the sim feels, but beats him to the small square embedded in the wall, so Church has to pretend that he wasn't going for it in the first place. 

Without regular guests, there's no reason to pay for the video service, so all they have is the intercom. Swiping his hand across the pad to activate it, Washington glances sidelong at him for a moment before leaning towards the mic. "Hello?"

A tired, feminine voice responds. "Hey, Wash. Glad you're home." There's something weirdly familiar about it.

Apparently, it's familiar to Washington, too. "Uh, hey! Hey there. Good to hear from you, Boss. What's up? What's, uh, going on? Also. Can you hang on a second?"

"What?" Whoever she is, she sounds equal parts confused and annoyed. "Look, can I come up? My arms are getting tired. I've got a box full of... Stuff. And it's for you. Putting it down would be great."

"Yeah! Yep. Of course. Come on up. Right on up!" His voice having reached falsetto, Washington proceeds to buzz her in, and then starts to pace in front of the door.

"Dude, what's going on? Who was that?" Church's face is scrunched up as he hovers at the end of the hall, squinting towards the door. "Where do I know her from? Don't tell me this is another ex. Wait, was I the only one you were talking about? Or--"

They both freeze when there's a knock, Washington's eyes wide and pupils blown. He glances at Church one final time, hand on the doorknob, before deciding to just rip the metaphorical bandage off. Swallowing audibly, he yanks the door open and stands beside it.

On the other side is a woman almost exactly Church's height, with graveditch eyes and hair that's _definitely_ too red to be natural. He remembers laughing when she brought the bottle home, saying she was going to look like a certain fast food mascot with the pigtails she was sporting at the time. He remembers dropping the mockery and helping her scrub the tiles when the dye got _everywhere_ and the bathroom looked like a horror movie set. He remembers feeling like they got away with something big when they managed to get it absolutely spotless again and the only punishment she got was for 'ruining her chances at a stable future'. Because their father was their whole world, and it had always been the two of them against the world.

"Geeze, Wash, what's gotten into you? You look like you've seen--" All of the humor drains out of her voice at the same time the color drains from her face, and she drops the box onto the floor in front of her. It allows Church to finally get a decent look at the contents: mostly movies and music in outdated formats ( they both still own a cd player, something about it just sounds better, _no he's not imagining it_ ) but there's a faded blue sweatshirt bundled in the middle. Hitting the thin carpet with a clatter, the plastic CD cases bump against each other, and a bluray box falls out over the top. It's an action / romance set in space.

He remembers lending it to her, shoving it into her hands and insisting that it wasn't just his 'usual scifi junk' as she so rudely put it, sneering that maybe she could watch it with her stupid boyfriend and his stupid haircut. 

He never did get to ask her if she'd enjoyed it.

By the time he processes all of that and blinks, she's stepped over the box and properly into the hall, and Washington is suddenly pinned to the wall by her hand on his throat.

"Is this a _fucking joke?_ " She snarls, her eyes flicking between the two of them as the door swings shut behind her.

Despite being a solid foot taller than her, Washington gasps for air and goes limp against the wall. "Boss, _please!_ I said the same thing! It wasn't my idea!"

"Oh yeah? Then whose idea _was_ it?" Her eyes are slitted and she looks more than ready to punch him. He knows firsthand how much force she can get behind those strikes, and flinches bodily.

Thankfully, it's his dead boyfriend to the rescue. " _That_ would be our dear old dad." Church finally finds his voice, even if he hasn't found his balance, wobbling slightly on his feet. "I guess he figured that Wash was the best person to test whether I was accurate or not. Or maybe he realized that you would finally snap and kick his ass." 

Bit by tiny bit, her fists relax on the front of Washington's shirt, but her knuckles are still white when they drop to her sides. Turning to acknowledge the sim, Carolina takes a moment to study him from top to bottom. "Close enough, I guess." 

Church snorts, crossing his arms. "Thanks. I'm glad that what is now my life's work is _passable_ to you!"

She stiffens for a moment, tense in the silence, before deflating and letting out a throaty giggle. "God. You sound just like him." She seems a touch dizzy as well, staring at him even as she brings a hand to her forehead. "Of course you do. Of course he'd make sure it was perfect, right?"

Glancing at the door, she takes a step further into the apartment and towards him.

When Washington comes back into the living room toting the box, they're both on the couch, with Carolina looking over the silicon coated hand grasped in her own. Her voice is strangely deadpan when she looks between them and makes her demand: "Tell me. _Everything_."


	2. will you deny me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright folks. i'm sad to say that we're only about… a little more than halfway? through this mess? most of the pieces are on the board ( altho some won't enter the fray until part three -- trust me, i haven't forgotten anybody ) and most of those have at least some idea of where they're headed. as do i, to even my surprise! thanks again to everybody who's stuck through this slog that was NEVER meant to be slowburn yet for some fucking reason is a legitimate fucking novella at this fucking point. would you believe that this was supposed to be a pwp? i wouldn't if i wasn't me.
> 
> side note: subscribing to the series is probably the best way to stay abreast, the new few updates are gonna be side stories in the same verse.
> 
>  **content warnings** for this chapter are: actually i don't think there are any?? definitely no new ones, but it does deal somewhat vaguely with suicide and that fallout on the loved ones involved. canontypical slurs. OH and some of my very vague offhand mentions of consensual sex. again, nothing that hasn't been present already.
> 
> the tag on my sideblog for this au is [metal now](http://toomanychurches.tumblr.com/tagged/metal%20now) and my new writing sideblog is [here](https://wordsyflaneur.tumblr.com)!

"Yeah, that's, uh… That's going to take a while." Church says drily, glancing between the two of them.

Washington sighs, nudging the door to the office open with his foot and disappearing inside with the box. "Hang on, let me put this on the desk for later. I'll put on some coffee in just a second. You two… Do your thing, or whatever." He's known them both for long enough that he's not expecting any emotions that flare up today to be dealt with _particularly_ well.

And true to form, neither sibling acknowledges him. Church is too busy trying not to let it show that he only remembered ten minutes ago that he'd had a sister for most of his life. Carolina is too busy staring at him, dissecting him from the outside. Both are completely absorbed in their shared drama.

She hasn't let go of his hand, either. "Flexible enough on the outside… Do you have tactile input? It's nice work. No wonder he was leaving so late, so often." Turning his palm over in her own, Carolina doesn't look up from studying his skin and joints. "And start at the beginning. I didn't have anything else planned today." 

He does; or at the very least, he tries to. He tells her that he's still not positive where the beginning really is, but he can start from where he remembers. He tells her about the weeks, the months of research, of trial and error and hoping for results that would be acceptable to the board members. He tells her about the entire project team being his responsibility, and how they all needed this to be a success. He tells her about the meeting, about realizing that their father was just using his research in some blind attempt to recreate their mother, that he didn't take that very well. He explains that _technically_ he's just a backup, but the closest thing left.

He doesn't tell her about the sleepless nights and panicfilled days leading up to the meeting. And he certainly doesn't tell her about how exactly he died. She doesn't need to hear that. Besides; knowing her, she probably read the autopsy report anyway.

"So… That brings you up to the here and now. I'm not dead, our dad is a shitstain, and I'm not really sure what to do about either of those things." He shrugs, something like a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So nothing's really changed, has it?"

Carolina isn't laughing. She reaches for his hand again, looking stricken. "Church… I'm sorry. About… God. About everything about this."

He just shrugs again. "Pffft, why, even? It's not like it's your fault."

"But I should have been there for you!" Her voice rises in volume for a moment, but then she's biting her bottom lip and staring at his hands again, face and words emotionless. "If I had just paid closer attention…"

"Then you would have felt like shit and still not been able to do anything." He shoves at her shoulder lightly. "Come on, Cee. You know I was never _really_ expecting to make it past thirty."

Washington gives him an affronted look from across the room. The response is simply to stick his tongue out, before he turns back to his sister, who's still struggling with the news.

Not that Carolina will let it show. "There was so much I wanted to say to you after, and now I can't remember any of it." Her voice doesn't break. He knows that she won't let it until she's alone.

In the silence that follows, Church casts around his mind desperately for something to say that might break the tension. He settles on: "So, uh. I guess we're not doing anything next saturday, huh?"

It seems to work. At the very least, Carolina lets out the first genuine laugh he's heard out of her all day, and shoves him in return.

* * *

It takes a lot of convincing to get Carolina to leave. It takes even more to talk her out of her plan of storming into the family home and demanding answers from their patriarch. But between Washington's apparent boneshaking terror and Church's ( expletive laden ) extensive arguing, they manage to get her to promise not to give away what she knows or even where she's been. The last thing they need right now is coming under corporate scrutiny. They're doing everything they can to stay under their radar.

But, finally, she makes her way to the door, hovering with her hand on the doorknob. After a silent moment, she ducks in and gives Church a swift, stiff hug. 

Washington almost doesn't catch it, but she whispers _i missed you_ over his shoulder.

He doesn't say anything in return, but he does awkwardly slide an arm around her shoulder and squeeze before she slides out of his range and out the door. 

She made the leap from 'him' to 'you' a lot faster than he would have expected. Maybe even faster than he has. 

Certainly faster than Washington.

* * *

The Alpha unit never liked shutting down. In the labs, it meant maintainence, the whitecoats tinkering in his head or his body without his awareness, only to find out about the changes when he next boots up. Outside, it doesn't feel as outright dangerous, but he still hates the lost time. He's been careful to hover around the power outlets, unwinding his cord to charge up the old fashioned way whenever he can. He has solar and wireless options, but he never leaves the house, and the apartment building is hardly top of the line. So he makes sure to always have plenty of battery charge, even if it's just to last him overnight.

Now, of course, he knows that his relationship with sleep has _always_ been tumultuous. Now, he can remember just how many nights he spent tossing and turning -- and rolling and kicking and _thinking, fucking hell the thinking, constant and unceasing_ \-- instead of getting any actual rest. 

So, no, Church doesn't sleep. He sits up, propped against at least three pillows, an inpicture screen in the corner of his vision. 

Tonight, it's the first scifi horror they watched together; for a given value of watched. Church had already seen it half a dozen times, and had been too distracted by the man beside him to absorb anything new. He'd ended up sliding off the couch and scuffing his knees on the rug through his sweatpants, ignoring the climax ( of the movie ) completely.

But the tiny window is just to give him a distraction. He knows how that he's always been terrible at _not_ multitasking, always felt like he had to be doing _something_ more with his time in order to be considered productive. It hasn't gotten any better with a mind that works faster, spinning binary into thoughts and emotions like straw into gold. Or, rather, like gold into straw. Something valuable into something ordinary and, above all, useless to him.

The living Leonard Church had always admired the sheer simplicity, the _cleanliness_ of numbers. Then he'd seriously gotten into coding, and discovered that it was just as messy and fallible as the people behind it; so he'd worked to perfect his own lines and root out any errors. He'd thought that he was pretty damn good at it, at the time.

He'd never expected that to end up defining the parameters of his own thoughts.

And so, some habits remain. But still -- somehow -- Church manages to keep himself immobile for the scant hours that Washington sleeps, only tilting his head now and then to watch one of the cats come in or make sure that his boyfriend's eyes are still closed. The movie credits start scrolling in the corner of his vision, and he swipes it aside to make room for a new one. 

By the time Washington starts to mumble and roll around, he's almost finished the second movie ( some old french drama that he'd left on his computer and snagged while he was combing through for anything that could get either of them in trouble ), and the sun is just barely starting to rise. 

Bracing himself for the reaction, Church waits as the human stirs and starts to open his eyes, looking him up and down.

The irritation ( or worse, disappointment ) that he'd been expecting when Washington realizes exactly who his guest is doesn't manifest. Instead, he just smiles faintly and bats at Church's shoulder, before rolling over. "Ugh, geeze. Did you just stay up the whole night?"

To say that wasn't what Church had been expecting would be a massive understatement. "Uuuuuh, yeah. You might not have noticed, but I'm not super into the whole 'shutting myself down and leaving myself vulnerable' thing."

"That's a shame." Washington raises a hand to knuckle the sleep from his eyes. "I think it'd be nice if you felt comfortable enough to power down around me."

Church doesn't respond to that, or even move, as Washington gets onto his feet and starts to stretch. In the silence, it seems almost like he's forgotten that the sim is there; until he pipes up in the middle of pulling his arms behind his head. "Hey. You're awfully quiet this morning. You okay there?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Great." Church says, staring at Washington as his muscles shift beneath the thin cotton of his sleep shirt.

If he notices where Church's eyes are pointed, he gives no sign of it. "Uh. Alright, good. I'm gonna go make some coffee. Then it's just business as usual, alright?"

"Right. Business as usual." The sim agrees, twisting around to stumble out of bed himself and pull on some relatively fresh clothes. "Totally normal. Just getting used to the afterlife, here."

He's worried that if he stays where he is, he'll just end up watching Washington until he leaves. Not that _that_ is a bad view, but. He should probably make an effort not to be so blatant.

Ugh. Or so _deluded_.

After Washington disappears through the door, Church spends a moment slapping his cheeks energetically, his eyes scrunched up as he does. "Not his boyfriend!" He whispers desperately to himself, still lightly _whap_ ing the sides of his face. "Not his boyfriend. Just a copy. Don't get too comfortable, stupid piece of shit!"

"Did you say something?" Washington calls from down the hall.

"No! Nope. Naaaah. Nothing saying, nothing doing!" He winces as soon as the blabber has fallen out of his mouth. Is that last one even a turn of phrase? The best way to make it seem like everything is normal is probably to simply act like everything is normal, so he finishes pulling on a pair of tattered sweatpants and practically trips out of the bedroom. "I'll be right there! Remember, it's double cream, triple sugar!"

It suddenly occurs to him why Washington knew that before he did, which only succeeds in further souring his mood.

* * *

After coffee and the single piece of fresh fruit that passes for Washington's breakfast, he hangs around the living room, watching Church sip his coffee and grumble at the cats as he tries to duck into his office again.

He manages to catch him just sliding through the door. "Hey, Church. I've gotta get cat food before work. You wanted to go outside more, didn't you?"

The sim freezes in place, mug halfway to his mouth. "Oh, uh." He does, but he doesn't. It's complicated, but in true Church fashion, it's not nearly as complicated as he's making it. "Well, yeah. Not _really_ , but I guess that's what I'm built for, or whatever."

That's as close to enthusiasm about doing errands as he's _ever_ gotten with Church. Washington rolls his eyes, but there's no real frustration behind it. "Okay. Get your hoodie and some gloves, and we'll be on our way in five."

He protests the gloves, insisting that nobody will be looking at this hands, but Washington is steadfast. There are plenty of rudimentary humanshaped T2T's around these days, but Church definitely doesn't act like one. For better or for worse, he has things like facial expressions, and reactions to people other than his designated owner. So he finally pulls them on, then stuffs his hands into his pockets to hide them defiantly.

Washington snorts, and smiles, and hooks an elbow through his since they can't hold hands.

The walk to the mall is bizarre, to say the least. It's not as strong as in his own home -- his own space, filled with echoes of himself -- but sights and sounds and smells keep throwing him offbalance. It doesn't drag up specific memories so much as the sum of all the different times they made the same trip. The steam pouring out of the twentyfour hour noodle stand a few blocks past their usual diner has him wondering what happened to the snow; hadn't they just decided to duck in to try and wait out the worst of the weather? But then Washington grabs for his hand, and drags him forward to catch up, and he remembers that it's only the beginning of fall. Not a winter night when Buddy had found and torn into the kibble bag, prompting them to run out late.

The mall is a little better. They pass the specialty tea shop that Washington likes, and the electronics store that Church used for spare parts, and he doesn't even have to stop and process which day it really is. He's getting _better_ at this.

He _does_ stop in the front of the pet store, but it's to stare at the kittens romping around in a fenced in area near the entryway. Washington manages to drag him away by the crook of his arm without too much complaining.

They make their way to the usual section of the store until Washington stops suddenly, frowning at the rows of different cat food brands: his preferred is out of stock. Well, a few weeks of eating something else can't be _that_ bad for the kids, right? He starts to browse, his feet taking him slowly past the various advertisements. Kitten blend, overweight blend, urinary tract health blend, elderly blend, ocular health blend, liver health blend...

And then he realizes just how _quiet_ it is. At some point while he was reading the different labels and trying to make an informed decision as a consumer, Church wandered away down the aisles, and Washington has to stifle a surge of panic in his chest. He's clearly not human; anything could happen, from industrial thieves to stupid young vandals thinking that he doesn't count as a person and therefore is fair game for a shitkicking.

He abandons the shelves of cans and kibble, and stalks down the rows between the displays, glancing around furtively. 

When Washington finally catches sight of the sim, he's crouched down in the darkened section for aquatic life, poking gloved fingertips at the glass and talking under his breath. 

"Who's a stupid little overly aggressive miniature carp? You are! Yes you are!" Church croons, leaning in as close as he can without bumping his nose into the glass.

Steadying his breathing now that he knows everything is alright, Washington allows himself a small smile, hanging back and hoping that Church won't notice him for a few more moments.

The sim's own smile breaks into a grin when he taps the glass and makes the fish flare its fins out, trying to look threatening. "Aaaaw, yes. You're really scary, aren't you? Yes, you sure hate mister hand! But mister hand brings you food, and maybe one day, you'll--"

Washington coughs. As soon as he does, Church is standing up straight and utterly silent, glaring at him. "Did you find what you needed?" He asks coldly, shoving his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his sweater.

"I did." It's impossible for Washington to keep the warmth out of his voice, but Church doesn't comment on it. He settles for rolling his eyes and hanging around the door while Washington pays, trying and failing not to look suspicious as he lurks with his face hidden as much as possible by his hood.

They walk back, since it's not really far enough to justify hailing a lifter unless the weather is truly miserable. After a few blocks, Washington starts to breathe a little heavier, sagging under the weight of the bulk food, and Church grabs the paper bag out of his arms while they wait for a crosswalk sign to change.

"You sure? You always hate hauling this back." He doesn't seem to notice that he used the present tense, this time.

Church ignores the burst of warmth in the center of his chest and doesn't correct him; just rolls his eyes and shifts the weight of the purchase in his grasp. "Yeah, because it's heavy. And also like, stupidly expensive. Why don't we just buy the normal shit at the grocery store?"

"We've talked about this, Church! Because that still is like, eighty percent fillers! Felines are _obligate carnivores_ , they need the nutrients in meat--"

Rolling his eyes wasn't working, so Church finally resorts to interrupting him verbally. "Oooooooh my goo _oooodddd_ , you are _such_ a nerd. I'm already carrying your fancy overpriced garbage, so please, just stop telling me why I should be."

" _I'm_ a nerd?" Even in the middle of the street, Washington manages to send him an incredulous look. "When I brought up the mere possibility of buying an automated feeder, you offered to build one yourself."

"Yeah, because that's _cool_. Home robotics are totally in. Get with the times, dude."

* * *

When he gets home from work the next night, Church is sprawled on the couch, limbs askew, with Kylie curled in a perfect loaf shape on his chest. 

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaash." The sim whines and wriggles his limbs anemically at the sound of the door closing, and doesn't even bother to look up. "Wash. Waaaaaaash... I'm hungryyyyyyyyyy."

"I thought you said that the tank doesn't _need_ to be full for you to function?" Washington sighs as he unzips his jacket, but he can't help but smile. It's too familiar, walking in to be greeted by two of his favorite creatures. One of which is a scruffy and standoffish beast, ready to puff up and hiss at the slightest provocation, and yet sometimes unbearably sweet with him in private; and the other one a beloved pet.

"It doesn't!" Church is in full pout mode, puffing his cheeks out to let out a raspberry. "Bpfffft! But I still wanna try stuff, y'know? I didn't get _any_ of your takeout last night."

There are a lot of conversations about this that Washington has been dreading. This ranks fairly high among them. "Alright… I didn't want to have to get into this, but. We don't really have the money for groceries for two, anymore. You were the one that brought home the bigger paycheques." When Church finally snaps upwards, practically tossing Kylie off of his front, Washington holds his hands up as placatingly as he can. "We're doing alright! I make enough, you don't have to worry, or anything. But they aren't paying me for this… Test run, or whatever it's supposed to be with you--"

"Dude, forget that!" Church is just as furious as he expected, but it doesn't seem to be directed at him. "What the fuck happened to my life insurance? Shouldn't you have a bunch of money because I just fucking _died_?"

He regrets his choice of words when Washington instantly flinches. "Well, technically, yes. You had a pretty good policy, apparently."

"Ap _parently_?" Church tries, and fails, not to shriek the word.

"Boyfriends don't count." Washington's voice turns deadpan as he hangs his jacket in the hall closet, not looking towards the sim. "Not the gay part -- though I bet that didn't help much when I was at the office -- but in the eyes of the law, we weren't official. You didn't specify anything about a 'roommate' in your will."

The sound that Church lets out as he flops backwards onto the couch cushions is somewhere between a growl and a shriek.

As much as it hurts to admit it, Washington hadn't really been surprised. Annoyed, and frustrated, and _grieving_ , but not surprised. "Yeah, that was pretty much what I wanted to say to them, too."

"So two years of our lives means nothing! A shared bank account means nothing! The entire fucking middle of my fucking last video means nothing! _Fuck this_!"

"Yeah, I know." Washington has made his way into the kitchen, glancing through the partition at the ongoing tantrum. "Apparently the video was useless, legally speaking. You didn't start with 'sound mind and body'."

Church just groans, an arm thrown over his eyes dramatically. "Great. Just. Fucking fantastic." He rolls over and onto his feet, dusting his hands off. "Okay, well. I know what we're doing for dinner."

"Church… I just expla--"

"Nope, not takeout. You're going to the store for potatoes and onions. We still have eggs and olive oil, thank god. Your kitchen is a disgrace."

Tilting his head, Washington regards him curiously. "Alright, fine. I'll bite. What are we making?"

Church's head is turned away from him, halfway buried against a couch cushion. "Well. You know how it is. Life sucks, and so does death! If there's ever an excuse for latkes, I think that's it."

Washington chuckles at that, low and quiet and sincere and warm. It makes Church feel like his bellows are collapsing in on themselves. "Alright. Alright, latkes it is. Potatoes and onions. Got it. Any other requests?"

"Mmmm… Apple sauce? Maybe just some extra pepper? I finished the hot sauce last week." The cabinets do, at the very least, have salt.

When Washington returns lugging the usual green grocery bag, it's full almost to overflow. Church blanches and digs through it for a moment, before he sees the sheer array of different kinds of onions, and lets out a laugh as he starts to understand what happened in the produce section. "Oh my god, dude. You could have just grabbed yellow. Onions really ain't that different."

"I couldn't remember!" Washington protests, his face faintly flushed. "It's not like you have a phone I can text, now! I just grabbed a bunch of different kinds to be safe."

"Are… Are these shallots?" Church says incredulously, holding the box aloft on his fingertips.

They get the groceries unpacked, the majority going in the fridge for later. Finally, at the bottom, Church uncovered the potatoes. With a triumphant cry, he yanks them out and holds them above his head. "Drumroll, please!" He shouts, the instant before dropping the bundle on the counter, letting the heavy vegetables bounce against it and each other chaotically. The _thudthumthudthump_ actually _does_ sound almost like a drumroll.

But when he pulls open the cutlery drawer and paws around for a knife, Washington grabs for his wrist. "Ooooooh, no. I don't think so. Look, I get that it's your craving and your recipe, but now you remember why you aren't allowed to cook. You've got no excuse. So we'll just do what we normally do, and I'll be your hands."

Puffing his cheeks out, Church glares up at him, pointedly not letting go of the bladed instrument. "That's not normal at _all_ , and you know it."

But Washington will not be swayed. "You're still not allowed near the stove. Go on."

Church loses the argument, of course, and has to sit back and watch the food be prepared instead of having something to keep his hands busy. 

Rinsing the potatoes takes longer than usual. Washington would prefer to simply peel them and use the meat, but Church pouts and bounces angrily on the couch and demands that the skins be left intact.

Washington sighs, but does as instructed. "You're so particular! You know we could probably just buy a whole box of these frozen, right?"

Church looks deeply offended at the mere thought. "Well, _sure_. If we had no respect for ourselves. But this is the _right_ way to do it."

There's actually a smile on Washington's face when he snorts and shakes his head, still digging the eyes out of the tuber with his thumbnail. "See what I mean? Par _ticular_."

Huffing indignantly, Church goes quiet for a few minutes, just watching Washington work. "That's just the way I've always made them!" With joints made of titanium, his knees don't protest at him kneeling on the couch for so long the way they used to; and he sits quietly with his chin propped up on folded hands and elbows on the counter, watching his boyfriend through the window. "I dunno. I guess it just reminds me of being really little, when it felt like things were gonna be alright. Mom was still around but off working, so dad would be at home juggling some new thesis or something with making sure Cee got fed and changed. He wasn't much better in the kitchen than me, but at least he _tried_ back then. After mom died, it was pizza and noodles six nights of the week."

Washington can't help but laugh, shaking his head as he puts onion peels aside for the garbage. "I'm almost afraid to ask… What was the other night?"

There's a smile for his trouble, hazy and nostalgic with memories that are only really half his own. "I'd go over to Tuck's on fridays, and we'd pig out on popcorn and candy until we passed out in front of the Tarantino marathon, or whatever it was that weekend. Lots of John Ford. One time, it was six straight hours of Scooby Doo and our own 'scooby snacks'. Which were just the cheapest sugar cookies."

"How _do_ you not have diabetes?" But he stops himself at that, remembering that 'did' would be more appropriate, since androids don't need to worry about blood sugar. Teasing his boyfriend about dying young somehow just doesn't have the humor that it used to.

But it still gets a response. "I dunno. Good genes?" And then Church throws his head back and laughs as though he's just said the funniest thing in the world. When it doesn't inspire the same reaction from his audience, he frowns and prods verbally. "That was a joke. Because of the horrifically crippling mental illness. Y'know. You get it?"

"I get it, Church." Washington doesn't even sigh, still washing the final potato in preparation for grating. "Now stop wallowing in your selfloathing and tell me how many eggs I'm supposed to use? It's been ages since I did this."

It seems to work, and Church is suddenly all business. If his business was latkes. "It's 'bout one per potato, if you want them to stick together. Make sure you beat 'em first, too!"

He tries to eat the first batch as soon as they come out of the pan, cussing and shaking his hands free of the excess oil as soon as he realizes how hot they are. Washington just snorts and lays down extra paper towels to try and let more of the grease drain.

* * *

Despite being a constant recluse and occasional luddite, Washington at least has a phone. He has every location and camera permissions disabled, and he screens his calls religiously, but he _has one_.

The next night, it rings when he's just barely in the door. With a glance at the screen, he tilts his head back and groans, leaning against the wall without having even taken his jacket off. "Shit."

From his customary position on the couch, Church looks over, pushing Buddy out of his lap. "What's up?"

Washington is practically wilted against the wall, clearly too tired after a full day of work to deal with whatever this is. "It's a Necessity number. I stopped picking up because all they ever do is ask if I can pull overtime, which." He glances up at Church briefly. "Is sorta just you, right now."

Still contentedly reclined, Church snorts at him. "Lazy bitch. No wonder you haven't been up for promotion."

"Sure, we'll say that's why." He swipes the button to answer, and then taps to put the caller on speaker. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end is familiar to both of them in a way that Carolina's wasn't. More recent, easier to place. "Mister Everett. You're a very difficult man to get a hold of, off the clock." Church can swear that he feels his blood run cold, despite not having any. "Would you care to open the front door for me, now?" 

Washington's face goes pale, and if Church's could, it probably would too. So much for staying off of their radar.

At the very least, when they open the door, the Counselor is standing there alone. Church has to stifle the urge to rush to the door, to peek through the doorframe, to peer down the hallways and make sure that the man doesn't have any well armed backup lurking by the elevators. Instead, he's paralyzed, frozen at the junction a few feet away while Washington stands at the door like a guardian.

But, _at the very least_ , one of them is practiced at pretending. Washington's voice dips low and flat as he answers: "We went over this last time. It's officer Washington to you, thanks. Even off the clock."

The Counselor gives him a nod, acknowledging his gaffe. "Of course, of course. Please, do excuse me. But I've been trying to reach you for almost two weeks, now. It's been very inconvenient for the production schedule."

Washington doesn't move from the doorway. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I would hate to _inconvenience_ you." His tone could melt through iron.

The Counselor continues with an easy smile, as though he's made of steel. "Please don't concern yourself. Now that contact has been reestablished, we can set about getting things back on track." He holds a hand out towards Church, bland smile still fixed on his face. "Alpha? If you please?"

"I rarely do." He crosses his arms. At the same time, Washington looks between the two of them, frowning. "If he pleases _what?_ "

"Well, it's been more than a month. His first data check was planned for the end of the fourth week." The Counselor says it easily, just a statement of fact, like it has no impact.

Church curls in on himself, and still doesn't move towards him.

Narrowing his eyes, Washington takes in the sim's posture and lack of response in an instant, making his own posture and voice tighten when he responds for him. "Okay, fine. Come in and do your check, then get out."

"Ah, no. No, unfortunately, he'll have to come into the labs to do it." His tone sounds apologetic, but he seems to be losing patience. "We have a system, officer Washington, and--"

Church finally bursts into a yell, letting go of his grip on his elbows to gesticulate wildly. "Fine. _Fine!_ Whatever. Look, I'll do it. But not right this goddam second." As the Counselor opens his mouth to argue, Church puffs up, righteously indignant. " _No_ , seriously! You guys want me to be the trial run, then treat me like it! You think a customer is gonna just drop everything to fit your service appointments?"

"They already do for their smartphones." Washington mumbles, prompting Church to _whap_ him with the back of his hand, before he continues as though nothing was said.

"So, just give me a time to be there in the next few days, and my temporary guardian here will drop me off. That's how it's gonna work for real, right? None of this special attention housecall bullshit."

The Counselor sighs heavily, his hands still locked behind his back. "I hope you understand that there will be rather significant consequences if you choose not to show up. Particularly if you, let's say, decided to leave the city instead."

"Yeah, yeah." Church grumbles, crossing his arms and mentally willing the man to leave. He _knows_ that he's company property. He knows that he's an investment. He knows what lengths they might go to in order to get him back. He's heard them talk about it enough in front of him.

In low, hushed tones, Washington and the Counselor exchange words, before Washington finally closes the door on him. When he turns away, he doesn't look happy, and Church knows why.

Sometime tomorrow, the Alpha unit has to check in with Necessity security and return to the labs. The Counselor had insisted on referring to it as 'going home'.

* * *

"I don't like it." Is the first thing out of Washington's mouth as soon as the two of them are alone again.  
"That's not saying much." Church rolls his eyes, throwing his weight back onto the couch. "You don't like _anything_."

"That's not true! I like-- oh my god." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Washington deflates somewhat, unsure how to proceed with the response he's been given. "Now isn't the time." 

For his part, Church is strangely calm. "You're right. We've got to decide what to do with my last twentyfour hours of freedom."

"Don't talk like that!" Washington shouts, sounding genuinely agitated. "What if they decide to keep you, huh? What's your plan then? Do you have _another_ backup version waiting to be delivered to me?"

"Sheesh, Wash. It's not all about you." At the indignant look that gets him, Church hoists back off of the couch and grabs for his elbow to make eye contact, staring at him seriously. "No, for real. I'm not just being an asshole, for once. This isn't just about us -- either of us. I've gotta see what's going on with the others. You want me to have _some_ info for C.T., right?"

Washington pauses, the wheels in his brain clearly turning. "And what if you aren't back by the time we're supposed to meet her? Once you're in, they might just keep you."

"I will be! God, you still worry too much." Church bumps against him playfully as he shoves past, trying to regain the feeling of normalcy they _almost_ had within their grasp before the phone rang.

But Washington's paranoia is difficult to dissuade. The protests continue as he follows a few steps behind him. "You're not supposed to know like, _anything_ that you know, now! Aren't they going to be looking at your brain? Won't they see that you remembered, oh, _being the project lead_ , just as a random example?"

"Uuuuuuh, well. Yes and no." When Washington crosses his arms and starts tapping a foot to indicate that this isn't satisfactory, Church sighs and gestures to the back of his head. "Different systems for different purposes, alright? The data checkups just measure, like… My equivalent of vital signs. How much memory or bandwidth I use, whether there have been any system hangs, that kinda thing."

At Washington's bemused stare, he pinches the bridge of his nose, right under where glasses would sit if he still needed them. "Fine, right. Layman's terms! They might be able to see that I freaked out, but they won't be able to see why. That's why we do these in person. Tuck and I used to call it Lying Practice."

This doesn't seem to soothe Washington as much as he thought it might. "Wait. Tuck? Like your friend, Tucker?"

"Oh my god, Wash, yes! _Keep up_!" The sim throws his hands in the air, hissing dully in the back of his throat. "Those fucking idiots are the only reason I'm going back into that hellhole!"

"If you hate it there much, then just don't!"

"I can't _do that_ to them!" Church screams it, his hands balling into fists at his side as he leans forward for maximum volume. "I got them into this fucking mess, don't you get it? This is my stupid fucking fault, and now I have to fix it!"

When Washington finally calms down -- relatively speaking, he's still pacing the hallway as he talks -- he has a condition. "Okay. Alright. Okay! We'll try things your way. But at the _first_ sign of trouble we're getting you out -- yes, _you_ , top priority -- and getting out of the city. Maybe head back to the west coast." He pauses, drumming his fingers on the back of his wrist with barely contained anxiety. "How do you feel about canada?"

"I have no strong feelings about canada, just like everybody else with literally anything else more important to think about." Church rolls his eyes, planting a hand on his desk in order to appear more stable. "Seriously, dude! It'll be fine! I'll be back the same night."

Washington inhales sharply, and just stares at him for a moment that seems to last forever. "You _do_ realize what happened the last time you said that, right?"

Church scowls. "Okay, look. We need to lay down some ground rules. One of them is that you're _not_ allowed to be more upset than I am over the fact that I'm dead."

"Wh-- oh, fuck you!" Washington saves up his cursing, making sure to use it when it really counts. He might be slightly irked. " _You_ weren't there the weeks after. You didn't have to--" Fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white and bloodless, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "You didn't have to see your body. _You_ just got to wake up and pretend that everything's the same."

He can feel his chest tighten and twist at the mention of his own corpse, both horrified by the mention of one of those realities that he's been trying not to think about, and achingly sorry that his boyfriend had to go through that. But all of that gets drowned by the spike of anger at the implication that he's had it easy. "I'm not trying to pretend anything! I'm the same fucking person, I just…" Church inhales himself, and tries to bring his volume back to indoor voice levels. "I just. Took a shitty vacation. If you think I'm just a copy, then why are you helping me? Just send me back!"

Washington brings his hands up to rub his temples, breathing slow and steady through his nose. "I don't _know_ what I think of you, yet. This is very, _very_ weird for me. But what I _do_ know is that I wouldn't send somebody back to Necessity's control even if I hated their guts."

Crossing his arms again, Church narrows his eyes. "Explain."

"I…" Washington stops dead, flexing his knuckles in and out of fists as he tries to find the right words for this. "I've seen what the company is willing to do, and it's not pretty. These contract violations aren't the first time I've seen Necessity do something blatantly illegal."

Church doesn't move as he listens, but when Washington falls quiet, he prompts the man quietly. "... Explain more."

The breath that Washington takes is shaky. "I'm not… I'm not really on the security team." When this just gets another skeptical look, he stammers and tries to elaborate. "I mean, I _am_ , we all still work security shifts. But we're more than that."

"... Define _more than that._ "

Breathing slowly and steadily, Washington takes a moment to choose his words carefully, trying to be both succinct and diplomatic. "We handle the protection of Necessity secrets, and sometimes the acquisition of others."

His attempts are for naught. Church finally unfolds his arms, but it's to slap his hands down on the couch cushions. "What the hell does that mean! _Explain more, please!_ "

Washington's fidgeting has reached critical levels. "We're not good people, Church! Not me, not York, and not Carolina, either! Most of us started to figure it out a while ago, but when I found out that you weren't just the Director's imitation…" He casts his gaze to the floor and chews his bottom lip. "I always tried to think that we were the good guys, but… You only get to say that if the motivation behind your orders isn't _totally_ messed up."

"I don't get it." Maybe he just doesn't want to get it. Maybe his basic programming is preventing him from really absorbing the fact that his boyfriend lied to him, to his face. Far more likely, unfortunately, is that he was just good at it. Even with his memories filtering back, Church has no idea what he could be talking about. "What are you trying to tell me, here?"

"Oh my god." Washington drops his head into his hands with an air of defeat. He hadn't wanted to have to spell this out. "Look, I've… stolen things. And hurt people." There's a pause that feels like it never ends, while Church parses the implications of the confession.

The sim just snorts; spelling it out doesn't seem to have had the expected effect. "Huh. Well, I sure hope that's enough to prepare you for stealing hurt people."

"What?" Washington's eyes go wide, and then squint in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"

"Look. I don't really give a shit. It's kinda fucked up that you lied to me, but… Well. So did I. We both know what the company contracts are like." Thinking at nearly a dozen times the speed of an organic brain has its upsides: he can stifle his reactions and come to terms with things a lot faster than he used to. He shrugs, and hauls himself up off of the couch. "Sooooo… Bright side is, we'll probably really need some of those skills soon."

"Church, no. I mean it. No dramatic jailbreaks if it's going to get you caught. I'm _not_ losing you again." He takes a deep, shaking breath, his eyes fixed on his own hands. "I can't do that."

The sim doesn't really know what to say to that. So instead, he walks over, claps a hand onto his upper arm, and sighs. "You won't. Listen, we'll work out a plan or something later. For now, let's both just chill out a little. I'm still going tomorrow, so let's just. Make the best of it."

Washington nods, slowly and reluctantly, and follows him with unsteady steps towards the office.

* * *

"Alright, which one do you wanna watch first?" Crouched in front of the shelving, Church runs polymer fingertips down the row of bluray boxes, trying not to remember the instance where he bought each one. "Something talky, or something 'splodey?"

Washington tries, and fails, to keep himself from smiling down at him. "Those are the only options, huh? Is there not a best of both worlds?"  
With a grin and a flourish, Church reaches for the same movie that Carolina just returned, recently slotted back into its place in alphabetical order. "There might just be, actually! You ready to _relive the glory_ that is… _Backwards Into Night_?"

His audience doesn't seem particularly impressed by the introduction. "I don't really remember it being all that _glorious_. Doesn't pretty much everybody die at the end?"

Church lets out a frustrated sound that's halfway between a shriek and a growl. "Augh! Wash, _oh my god!_ I haven't seen it yet!"

"What? You _just_ said relive th--"

"Well obviously I've _seen_ it, but _I_ haven't seen it. You get me?" In all honesty, Church doesn't really get himself, here. He _knows_ that he knows what happens, but it also feels new to him. It's almost like everything is a book that he read a dozen times as a child and can describe the major points of, but doesn't remember the details of the plot twists until he gets to that chapter again.

Predictably, Washington doesn't really understand it, either. "I absolutely do not." He confirms in his usual deadpan.

Heaving a sigh, Church shakes his head and makes his way through the door, bluray box in his hand. "Whatever. We're doing this one, now. Just don't ruin anything else for me."

"You've _seen it five times!_ "

* * *

After the first movie is finished, Church retreats to the office to pour over his collection again. He has so many favorites, and it feels like he gets to experience all of them fresh. That's at least one upside to the bizarre newbutnot feeling that he's been getting from rewatching things. Since he chose a scifi for the first ( even if it was a _smart_ space adventure ) he supposes he might as well grab a boring talky one to keep Washington placated.

But by the time he's picked one out and returned to the living room, Washington's head is tipped back on the couch, his mouth hanging open slightly and a low rumble rasp slipping out of it. In his absence, Kylie took over Church's spot next to him on the couch.

Church lets out a snort, and places the box on the table as quietly as he can. There's no point in waking him up now.

They'll get to say goodbye in the morning.


End file.
